Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 91 Signs of an Approaching Famine (Part 1)

Inside the mansion buried deep underground, the climate was as warm as early spring, and ferns were even grown. Earl Jansen, the Minister of Agriculture, came out of Rennes' room, glanced at it quickly, and remarked that this was probably one of the few ferns in the world.

He had just finished reporting on the situation in the agricultural area. Grain production was far from ideal. Based on the current consumption-output ratio, there would be a food shortage for 10,000 people by the time the potatoes were harvested in two months.

Although the reserves can hold out for a while, the food crisis will fully erupt by the end of this year at the latest.

There are many reasons: competition among managers, unprofessional agricultural management, problems with the design of agricultural zones, unfinished machinery, extravagance and waste among middle and senior management, and manpower shortages... You can easily list a whole bunch of them, which has turned an agricultural zone that was originally designed to support 40,000 people into one that can barely support 20,000.

But many of these things could not be discussed with the governor, not because he had accepted bribes—although Earl Jansen was a member of the club—but because he knew that Rennes had no way to resolve the issue, or that the only solution was violence.

Just like the intricate relationships between the administrators, if the governor were told this and he felt "so annoyed he might as well just kill them all," then they might actually be killed. But the cost would be the complete paralysis of the agricultural district, with a large number of properties, contracts, shares, and ownership rights becoming completely unresolved, and the conflict between the governor and the administrators would be further exacerbated.

Therefore, Yang Sen only reported objective technical problems such as "some mechanical procedures were not completed" and "manpower shortage", and did not mention any of the others.

What he was unwilling to admit was that he was afraid of the governor, just like everyone else, he was afraid of the governor who possessed legendary, even top-tier, legendary strength.

Once he decides to go on a killing spree, no one can escape. This powerful individual is what they hate most because he is completely out of control and has the ability to overturn the table at any time.

Therefore, he must be confined to the cage of order and duty, just as they have done before.
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At this moment, Sam was pushing his wheelchair to inspect the planting situation in the Ninth Agricultural District.

A man decades older than him followed beside him, wearing an Evangelical Fellowship badge on his collar, pointing and gesturing at him.

"Don't be too surprised when we go in," he whispered.

Sam thought to himself, "It's just farming, it's nothing new, why are you making such a fuss?" But the moment he stepped into the agricultural area, his eyes widened, and he admitted that he really hadn't seen much of the world.

The enormous ceiling was filled with rising steam and mist, and ten layers of vertical agricultural racks stood in every corner. Sam felt like an earthworm lying in the soil, looking up to see layers of soil and plants.

Farmers, standing on steam-powered platforms amidst billowing white steam, quickly ascend to various heights to tend to the crops that are growing at the fastest pace.

The glass tubes encased in cast iron, like glowing blood vessels, extend from behind a door, connecting the spaces on each floor and emitting a bright light.

On the wall to the side, a huge mechanical panel clearly displays temperature, humidity, brightness, and the time of each growth stage using a brass digital dial, and these values ​​change constantly.

Sam also saw that a layer of crops had just been harvested, and the farmer pressed a button next to him, and the machinery below started to make noise and roar—then fertilizer poured out evenly, and the mechanical rollers under the soil began to turn the soil automatically.

Various pipes and machines filled this space in a dazzling manner, and simple planting was developed to the extreme by human wisdom.

"The crops here take less than half the normal time to mature," the old man explained slowly. "The light pipes bring the light from the furnace to each floor, so there is almost no night for the plants. Fertilizer is produced uniformly in the livestock area, where human and animal excrement and some garbage are collected and composted, and then automatically distributed."

"Originally, we also planned to use warm water and steam pipes to ensure a constant temperature around the plant roots, which could increase production further, but that function has not yet been completed."

Sam reached into the soil and turned it over—in his experience, the soil quality and moisture were perfect.

The only problem is that this extreme ripening process can make the crop taste very bad, as it doesn't accumulate enough starch, sugar, or flavor.

He once tried ripening potatoes with light and heat, which was a nightmare—they had almost no sweetness, only a raw taste, and would fall apart into a mushy mess when stewed in a pot. Moreover, they had a very high water content, making it feel like you were eating a bellyful of water rather than food.

But he believed the old man in front of him also knew about this; he was his friend and a veteran of the 22nd Agricultural District, so he didn't say much. After all, at this time, having anything to eat was good enough; there was no room to be picky about the taste.

"Are they all grown using this method?" he asked.

“Only District 20 is different; that area is exclusively for gentlemen.” The old man sneered. “I heard that District 19 is also going to become a long-term cultivation area.”

Sam nodded silently.

"Yesterday they held a meeting to accelerate the development of the agricultural zone and increase crop output. After half a day, the conclusion was that they would stop growing other vegetables and grow potatoes exclusively." The old man grumbled incessantly. "I heard they all applauded it, and then after calculating the extra crops produced, they allocated the 19th district to themselves as well."

Sam looked up at the massive ten-story shelf.

The top two layers are usually planted with rye, barley, and oats, as that area has the best ventilation and sunlight.

Below that is a layer of alfalfa, then three layers of potatoes, followed by vegetables such as beets, peas, and spinach. The bottom layer has the highest humidity and is generally used for growing aquatic vegetables.

This was the initial design of the shelter, taking into account various nutritional needs.

"Has it been carried out?" Sam asked.

“They’ve already started ordering us to switch to other crops,” the old man sighed. “They’ve even told us to discard any plants that haven’t sprouted yet and immediately switch to other crops, because the higher-ups want immediate results—with mechanical assistance, potatoes can grow a season in six weeks.”

"There must be quite a few dissenting voices, right?" Sam asked.

The old man gave him a deep look: "There were almost no dissenting voices, except when people felt sorry for the plants they were switching to."

Sam paused for a moment, then shook his head helplessly.

Suddenly, as if he had thought of something, he quickly asked, "Won't planting potatoes on such a large scale cause problems? Do you remember the great famine in Hebrewia?"

“How could I not remember?” The old man reached into his pocket for a cigarette but found none. He angrily patted the pocket of his overalls. “Wilderness and death are memories of that generation.”

"Didn't you stop it?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Me? I can't even attend the meeting; I only heard about it from others." The old man smiled, his wrinkled face showing an expression of having endured countless hardships. "I'm just a retired, half-baked mechanic and farmer. I can't even offer any opinions; I can only obey the orders of the officials."

"If you want to give feedback... I remember they set up a governor's mailbox a while ago?" Sam recalled what he'd heard before. "Have you tried that?"

"You mean that?" The old man pointed to an inconspicuous little iron box five meters off the ground on the wall next to him.

Sam sat in his wheelchair for a moment in silence: "How did they manage to hang this thing up there?"

"When the old men don't want you to talk, they always have an endless supply of ways to do it," the old man said, shrugging.

(End of this chapter)